


i lost myself again (but i remember you)

by gayyegg



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes-centric, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Idiots in Love, M/M, Slow Burn, follows canon up until like civil war, i guess? i’m just sad about bucky, i never actually watched all of civil war so it can't follow that as well as catws sorry yall, they're like. real stupid.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-14
Packaged: 2020-04-08 00:14:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19095832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gayyegg/pseuds/gayyegg
Summary: Bucky realized he was in love with Steve in 1934 at the age of 17. It’s a funny moment, they’re sitting in Steve’s room, his ma is out making dinner, whistling to herself, and Steve is drawing Bucky while he reads laying at the end of his bed. It should have been a scary thought. It didn’t feel like one.





	1. Chapter 1

Bucky realized he was in love with Steve in 1934 at the age of 17. It’s a funny moment, they’re sitting in Steve’s room, his ma is out making dinner, whistling to herself, and Steve is drawing Bucky while he reads laying at the end of his bed. It wasn’t a rare situation, and was surely one they would be in again, but as Bucky looked over at Steve, biting his lip in concentration, the light shining warm on his face, he can’t help the way his heart seems to buzz in his chest and a small smile takes over his lips. He felt warm and all he could think was “I’m so in love.”

It should have been a scary thought. It didn’t feel like one.

Obviously, he knew he couldn’t do anything, but it wasn’t necessary, they were already best friends, he couldn’t ask for more.

Steve caught him looking at him and rolled his eyes and Bucky was snapped out of his thoughts, rolling his eyes and turning back to his book, laughing as Steve nudged the book out of his hands. “Asshole,” he mumbled, hoping that Sarah couldn’t hear them through the paper thin walls.

The thing is, it truly didn’t change anything. Often he would look at Steve and his heart would tighten in his chest, and his brain would go quiet and only be able to murmur, “You love him,” but their friendship stayed the same.

Steve would never return his feelings either way, even if it wasn’t illegal, and Bucky would never ask for more.   


  
Two years later, Sarah Rogers passes away. It’s a hard day for everyone, especially Steve, who’s truly alone now. Until her dying breathe Sarah insisted she would be around for her son his whole life, seeing as truly he wasn’t expected to make it to 8 years old. The doctors, of course, had been wrong, and at 18 years old, Steve was alone in the world.

Of course, the Buchanan’s weren’t going to stand for that, pushing Bucky to invite Steve to move in with him, keep him close, and of course he wanted that. He wanted Steve as close as possible at all times, so it wasn’t a reach at all.

It wasn’t surprising either when Steve tried to turn it down, nothing about Steve was surprising to Bucky though. “I can get by on my own.”

He knew he could. Of course he could, there was nothing Steve wasn’t capable of, Bucky had known that his whole life, but he couldn’t just say that, so instead he settled on. “Thing is, you don’t have to, cuz’ I’m with you til the end of the line, pal.” And the way Steve smiles at him is more than worth it. That’s all he needs.

 

Steve moves in two weeks later.

It’s perfect, they’ve spent their whole lives next to each other, it’s not hard to have Steve slip into the spots he hadn’t before. They share a bed, Brooklyn weather wracking Steve’s small frame almost every season, especially winter, Bucky cooks, after he watched Steve almost burn soup and under bake potatoes. He still ate the meal, of course he did, not only because they were dirt poor and wasting food wasn’t a trait he had, but because Steve made it. If he licked his fingers and practically the plate clean just to watch Steve blush and roll his eyes.

It looked a little strange from the outside, he knew, he lived in the gay neighborhood anyway, not that his ma knew that, he had Becca keeping that under close wraps for him, and having his tiny best friend move in with him made them look like more, but Bucky was lucky, he knew he had a pretty face, the girls had always been trying to get his attention, he had an easy cover, even if it gave him a reputation for a skirt chaser. It was better than the alternative.

And honestly, living with Steve and being in love with him was incredible. All the things he hadn’t got to see, he got now, the way Steve would curl up against him, the way he looked in the morning, how he’d focus when Bucky needed a haircut and couldn’t get the back on his own, the way Bucky would catch him looking sometimes and have to force himself not to overthink it. He wished he could have this life forever. He knew, one day, that Steve would settle down with a pretty girl and have a little family and it was unlikely there would be space in his life for Bucky then. And that was okay. He had now, he had this life where if he could focus hard enough he could pretend it was everything he wanted.

The only problem, were the aforementioned looks, and the touches Steve would leave sometimes, not to say anything about the way he’d grab Bucky’s arm some nights and wrap it around himself. He would take Bucky’s hand sometimes and press it to his chest. “Listen to my heart. I need to know how off the rhythm is and the pulse,” but the way he’d look up at Bucky through his eyelashes while he counted out his pulse was almost too much. Bucky just refused to believe it meant anything. If Steve had something to say, he’d say it, he’d never been one for subtly.

 

Then came the war. The news breaks in 1939, it’s all over the papers, but America is still in isolation, so all it is is news. Bucky reads up on it, trying to keep an eye out for any sign of possible American involvement. As an able-bodied young man, he knows exactly where he’ll be when America gets involved.

Steve seems to get angrier the more the war goes on, getting in more and more fights. Some nights, while Bucky is walking home from the docks he’ll have to keep an ear out just to make sure he doesn’t have to drag anyone home again. The more America doesn’t get involved, the angrier Steve gets, but Bucky can’t help but be relieved, all it means is he gets to stay and take care of Steve a little longer.

He can’t imagine he’ll make it back if he goes.

Things change in ’43.

Bucky is drafted, but he doesn’t tell Steve. Steve is trying everything to enlist and Bucky doesn’t have it in him to admit that he was trying to avoid the fight, wondering if there was anyway to take Steve and dodge it, slip away from it all.

“We needed to be out there so long ago, the fight has been going for too long to not get involved,” Steve rants over dinner, mad at another enlistment refusal. Bucky can’t help but notice the way his eyebrows pinch together and his cheeks flush.

“I know, Steve, you’ve said it quite a bit by now.” He’s picking at his food, eyes down as he lets Steve complain again, repeating himself angrier every time. He stood up, taking his plate to the counter, saving what he could before carefully washing it off. Despite the fact Bucky was clearly barely listening, Steve was still going on, now moving to his anger towards draft dodgers and Bucky felt a harsh ache in his chest. It was one of those situations where he was reminded that he wasn’t worth Steve’s time, that if Steve knew many of the things he did to make things work for them, he wouldn’t want them anymore. Between the stealing and the multiple jobs Steve didn’t know about, figuring he had just one full time with overtime, as well as thinking about dodging, he had enough lies piling up against him that he didn’t want Steve to know.

Didn’t change the way he loved him though.

His last night before shipping out was the hardest of his life. He took them out, his date tugging his hand and holding him close but he knew he was only going to walk her home and bid her goodnight. He wouldn’t be a soldier with a sweetheart back home, he’d be a soldier praying for the survival of a best friend he might never get another chance to see, not sure which one of them would pass first.

Steve pressed closer that night, fingers digging into the back of Bucky’s undershirt, pushing him hard against his chest. Bucky pretended he couldn’t see Steve’s shoulder’s shake, knowing it was what Steve wanted. He held him back just as tight.

 

War wasn’t what Bucky had expected, but he was good at it. It seemed he had a knack for sniping, and the army intended to take as much advantage of that as possible. He sped through basic and straight to the field, watching his friends fall, the blood run. It was worse than he expected, in every way. He had known the death, the dirt, the loneliness would be there, but the emptiness, the guilt, those were stronger than he had expected.

He was set with the 107th, making friends quick, as always, but as lonely as ever. It felt like too much stress to care about people you were fighting a war with, unsure who would make it. Not that that was hugely new to Bucky, Steve was never meant to survive as long as he did.

He watched other’s with pictures of their lover in their helmet, sweetheart grips on their guns, jealousy coiling in his gut for the love he’d always harbored but would never be allowed to show. Likely never even be able to see again.

He’d been wrong before.

The 107th was captured with a fight, taken to a facility they couldn’t name, thrown in cages and left, all except Bucky, who they soon circled back for, forcing him into a little room and onto a table, strapping him down and injecting him with god knows what. He tried his best to block it out, repeating his name, rank, and serial number over and over until he’d lost track of where he was. He had no idea how long he’d been there, how any injections he’d been through, how many times they’d cut him and timed how long it took to heal. His throat was dry from the repetition and occasional screams, but there was only so many times he could manage that, the words coming out a dry mumble, the screams toning down to whimpers. It could have been weeks, could have been hours, he had no way of knowing, and wasn’t sure if he wanted to anyway.

He was sure he wouldn’t be making it out of this when what could or couldn’t be considered a miracle happen.

“Bucky?”

Bucky pried his eyes open, trying to convince himself it wasn’t bad enough for him to be hallucinating  yet before he took in the man in front of him, Steve but taller, broader, and looking at him with concern that Bucky was usually on the giving end of. “Steve?”

Steve looks like he’s about to cry, ripping the straps holding him down with his bare hands, “I thought you were dead.” He helps him up, clearly rushing to try and get them out of the room.

“I thought you were smaller.” He follows behind, struggling to keep up. He couldn’t take his eyes off Steve, trying to figure out what was going on. “What happened to you?” He wants to be happy for him but there’s more anger in his gut he doesn’t want to dwell on while he’s being saved, he’ll handle that when he gets back to camp.

“I joined the army.”

Bucky watches as Schmidt and Zola make their escape, barely aware of what going on, barely in his body at all. He understands now, that whatever they used to make Steve big, was the same shit they had been pumping into him, just better.

He watches Steve fight, seeing clearly he hasn’t grown used to the size yet, doesn’t know how to utilize it. He wants to help, but he knows with how weak he is, it won’t be any use, he’d just get them both killed.

It seems like that’s it for them, the walkway having been retracted, there’s nowhere left to go, but Steve is sharper now, pushing Bucky up towards a beam between the two levels. “One at a time, come on. “ He barely makes it over and he can’t help but feel useless as he watches Steve struggle to come up with away across, trying to get Bucky to leave without him, but they both knew that wasn’t happening. Steve could be without Bucky, but Bucky knew he couldn’t be without Steve now that he had him here. Steve’s true strength shines through as he bends a metal bar out of the way and jumps across, and Bucky’s chest aches.

 

They make it back to base with few problems, mostly trying to keep the injured men awake and with them, and as soon as they arrive, the ache is back.

Bucky had never wanted Steve to see war, that had outweighed the concerns of his size and illnesses. Steve had been a fighter and Bucky knew that once in a war, he would give it his all, and he couldn’t stop thinking that this was no place for Steve. Steve was a good guy, he had always been a golden boy, and while he wanted everyone to see that for his best friend, it hurt to see it only happen when they could look at him without pity. He deserved so much more than this.

And then, there was Agent Carter. “You’re late,” she had said, and Bucky couldn’t watch, his insides squirming uncomfortably, watching Steve give her the same look Bucky had always given him.

 “Couldn’t call my ride,” and Bucky hated this.

Of course, he had known that it wouldn’t be him and Steve forever, one of them would settle down, and it would be a new life without much room for their best friend, but that didn’t mean that Bucky wanted to watch it happen. He had spent his whole life loving Steve and it took him to get big for anyone else to bother looking at him, and it hurt, knowing that all the love he kept inside was worth nothing, that it would never count for anything in their relationship and if he even told anyone it wouldn’t be a sob story for him, it would be one for Steve, who had to find out his best friend was kicked out of the army so more people could experiment on him, try and get his head on straight.

So he stayed quiet. Like always.

 

The war continued on.

Bucky was lucky he had always been a good actor around Steve, keeping the emptiness out of his eyes as soon as he heard the other’s steps, keeping his spirits light despite everything. Even if Steve didn’t need him anymore, he’d do his best to be a comforting presence, keeping the attitude of his best friend from Brooklyn.

The Commandos noticed, because they’d seen the way Bucky had been before Steve had arrived, they got to see right through the act. Bucky didn’t mind, sometimes it was nice to have one of them pat his shoulder or ruffle his hair like they understood. Steve was still just happy to be there, to be fighting, to help them win, and none of the other’s particularly shared that sentiment anymore. They fought anyway, it wasn’t like they had another choice. Steve was right, they were fighting for what was right, they just had to remember that.

It was Dum Dum who brought it up while they stood watch together one night, everyone else taking a well earned rest.

“Didn’t you say something about having feelings for someone back home? What was her name again?”

Bucky’s shoulders fell and he shook his head, remembering the conversation. The rest of the guys had wives or girlfriends they wanted to return to, and when asked Bucky only said. “Never got her, just had feelings. I’d like to see her again though.” He had hoped that would be enough, but it seemed like Bucky could never give enough to satisfy the people around him in anyway. When prompted for a name, he panicked and said, “Stevie. Stephanie. She goes by Stevie.”

Of course Dum Dum remembered. “Please don’t say anything. He doesn’t know, and he’s not going to, it doesn’t affect my ability to fight.”

The look in Dum Dum’s eyes was too kind and Bucky had to look away. “I won’t say anything Sarge. I was just wondering. I can’t imagine it’s easy for you to see him like that now. Or here.”

He nodded, running a hand through his hair. “He thinks it’s the right thing. I won’t argue.”

“I’ve noticed. You won’t even let him see that the war is taking a toll on you.”

Bucky sighed, chewing the inside of his cheek. “I don’t think I’m going to make it home, I don’t want him to have to see how bad I’m doing every time he remembers me.” He knew it didn’t matter anyway, most soldiers didn’t assume they were going home, but it wasn’t just a feeling for Bucky, it was something he knew. He didn’t know how, but somehow deep inside he was sure that this was it for him.

At least he hoped it was.

“Maybe you should tell him how you feel. Just get it out if you think there’s nothing to lose.”

“No.” He didn’t expand farther, just shaking his head before jumping a little at the sound of someone else getting up, switching watch. “I guess our time’s up. I’d love to pass out right about now.”

 

Bucky’s right. He won’t make it home.

Finding out isn’t fun though, he realizes, struggling to keep hold on the train, trying to reach for Steve’s hand. Steve doesn’t need to see this, he doesn’t want him too.

He assumes this is what it was like for Steve every time he got bad and kicked Bucky out no matter how hard he argued. If he was going to die, he didn’t want his best friend to see.

Sure enough, he fell.

 

Unfortunately, he woke up again.

He was alone, in the ravine, his entire body lit up in a pain in a way he’d never known, a little glance around showing him the bright colored blood seeping into the snow, and all he could do was close his eyes and pray it was over soon, or that Steve was coming, he’d find him, no one else would get his hands on him.

Like always though, his prayers went unanswered.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The asset doesn’t know much, but he knows he’s missing himself. He knows this isn’t him.  
> His handler tells him he isn’t a person, of course he doesn’t feel whole, like he’d assume everyone else feels, but he knows. He has flesh and blood, except his left hand. He knows he’s human.  
> And humans ache

The asset doesn’t know much, but he knows he’s missing himself. He knows this isn’t him.

His handler tells him he isn’t a person, of course he doesn’t feel whole, like he’d assume everyone else feels, but he knows. He has flesh and blood, except his left hand. He knows he’s human.

And humans ache.

He always aches, down to the marrow, his skin frozen from cryo, brain fuzzy with half remembered thoughts, tumbling around like laundry. But he knows. This ache belongs only to humans.

 

He sees himself in the relatives of those he’s sent to kill, the way they cry, or hold their chest. It’s cold, and different from the pain he thinks belongs to the situation, but any pain is good. It means they haven’t taken everything.

He remembers sometimes, flashes of blond hair and blue eyes, long eyelashes and skinny fingers. He doesn’t know what they mean, but they ease the pinch in his chest slightly. Other times he has images of falling, of a ravine, of how someone would come for him, that he wouldn’t die alone there. Those hurt.

 

His first handler is a pretty woman with brown hair and dark eyes. She tells him often he’s doing well, that they’re changing the world together, and he knows she believes it. He knows that the world is changing, but it’s not for the better, and that’s because of him. There’s nothing he can do though.

The second handler is a man, much kinder from the woman. He has a deep voice and thin hands. If the asset zones out hard enough his brain and convince him he’s someone else, whoever he used to be waiting for, until he sees his eyes and remembers, he is the asset. No one is coming for him.

He gets a third and a fourth, though he doesn’t know what keeps happening to them. He does his best not to wonder.

Eventually, he stops noticing new handlers. He’s tossed around from Hydra to the Soviet’s and back again, never settling one place often. He knows most of this is because neither group wants to be caught with him, the more they pass him around, the harder he is to find. He wonders what they’re hiding from, but he knows it isn’t his concern. Questions only get him in trouble and make it worse. It’s easier not to wonder.

The experiments never stop either. Once they have his arm finished, they wonder just how much they can do with him. He doesn’t know what half the experiments do, but he knows that the chill settled deep in him isn’t from cryo only, he knows that that was an attempt to make him harder to notice, try and help him blend in under thermal cameras. He doesn’t know why that’s a concern, unlike others. He understood when they made him more sensitive to touch, that was simply to keep him fighting, the more it hurt the harder he fought, but once again, he had no reason to ask why they’re doing this to him. He understands that that’s why they have him. He understands that it’s better him than someone else.

 

He trains other’s to be like him at the demand of the Soviet’s, as much as whoever he used to be screams at him to stop from some small corner of his brain, shouting and rioting and giving him one hell of a headache. The chair takes that away too.

He figures, in a way, he’s thankful for the chair. He won’t ever have to remember all the terrible things he’s done.

 

Hydra takes him once and for all, and settles him with a handler with blond hair and brown eyes and it feels strange looking at him, like he’s a familiar face with something just a little off. When he first sees him, there’s a surge in his chest and it almost feels like he’s saved, but then those brown eyes fell on him and he knows, he is not. He remembers, again, that no one was coming for him.

 

Pierce is the longest he has a handler, and he knows once Pierce is done, he’ll be handed down to Brock Rumlow, assuming they haven’t gotten rid of the Asset by then. He knows that Insight is happening, and he knows when it’s done, he is too. They would have no need for a broken soldier when they had machines that could take out anyone, anywhere, in no time at all. Brock and Pierce are both the best and worst handlers he’s had. Pierce is less verbally aggressive. He tells the Asset constantly that they’re on the path to a better world, but physically, he’s the worst, and the Asset knows that once it’s up to Brock, it’ll only be worse.

He falls out of his body sometimes, when the handlers are using him, zoning out hard enough he can almost imagine the life he thinks he had once, a small apartment and a small man inside, one with blond hair and blue eyes and a funny little smile he’d always give the Asset. He doesn’t know what it means, but he likes it well enough. It makes things easier to survive.

He tries not to think about it often then. He doesn’t particularly want to survive all this.

 

Things start to change then. The Asset is confused because he completed his mission, he took out Director Fury, but Pierce is angry nonetheless, beating him like he’d been bad. He hadn’t, he knew he hadn’t, he’d completed the mission and the man on the roof had not caught him, he did not know who he is or who owned him.

He was sent out again soon after, this time to catch the man from the roof.

 

It doesn’t seem like a difficult mission, until he sees that the man is not alone. He knows that the redhead was a good fighter, Hydra told him that, but he hasn’t seen the other man before. He hopes he is a civilian and at least has the sense to run, he hates taking out people who have no weight in the fight.

He takes out Sitwell easily. Hydra hated leaks, and from then he knows that this is going to be a fight. The way the redhead moves, gets everyone out of the way, and the way that the other man barely gets a scrape when he rolls down the road after exiting the car, he almost feels fear. He has backup though, for once they didn’t send him out alone, and he is thankful. He had no doubts he could do it, if they’d given him permission to snipe, but Pierce had said that it would make more of an impact hand to hand. The Asset only did what he was told.

 

The redhead tricks him, jumping him and almost catching him off guard. She was a very good fighter, but he was better. She throws something at his arm, before running, and he has little time to process, tearing it off out without thought. He manages a shot to her shoulder as she runs, and he’s thankful that if nothing else, he won’t have to worry about her so much. He is about to take her out, when the blond man charges at him.

The blond man fights well. The Asset almost appreciates the fight, it had been a long time since a target had almost evenly matched him, but he knows he’ll win, of course he would, this was what he was made for. It’s three against one though and he knows that unless the other’s take out the other man and the redhead, he won’t stand a chance. He keeps his ears focused for the sound of other’s coming at them, but keeps his eyes steady on the man in front of him. There’s something about him, about the way he fights that feels familiar, especially once he gets his hand on his shield. It feels like he had held it before. He doesn’t think about it, tries to focus on keeping the fight on his side, trying to gauge where the weapons he had unintentionally tossed were, since Pierce got angry when he had to replace weapons again and again, but he has no choice but to think about it whenl he’s thrown over and his mask comes off. He stands, ready to continue, eyes right back on the man in front of him, but the other man’s stance has fallen.

“Bucky?”

The world goes quiet for a moment, his brain scrambling to try and figure out what that means, the headache is back and the screaming from the corner of his brain is louder than ever and all he wants to do is run.

“Who the hell is Bucky?”

He sees the other man’s face fall and ignores the way it makes his chest ache. Now is not the time for that, he knows that. His hearing comes back online properly just as he feels feet hit his back, knocking him off balance. He sees the other man from before, and now he has wings. Pierce didn’t warn him to look out for that. He’s about to fail the mission, he knows it, and he panics, aiming one last shot toward the blond before he sees the redhead, holding one of his previously discarded weapons, and runs. He knows Brock is coming, he will handle them, for now his goal is to return to base and take his punishment.

 

Pierce returns and he knows he’s about to be punished either way, and for once, the Asset asks a question. “The man on the bridge. I knew him.” It’s more of a statement, but his brain is scrambling to try and find how, and he prays that Pierce will explain, will get rid of the way his brain keeps chanting “Bucky,” like it means something. He’s told he met him on another assignment. He doesn’t believe it. “But I knew him.” He gets a slap in the face and they use the chair again. He minds this time.

 

He’s sent out again after “Captain Rogers.” He has a name for the blond man now, and he likes that. He wishes they’d give him names more, but he knows it doesn’t matter now. Once this fight is over, he’s done. It’s finished.

They send him out maskless and he wonders why, but doesn’t ask. It doesn’t matter.

 

Captain Rogers meets him in the helicarriers, suited up this time and while the Asset doesn’t remember much of their last fight, he knows they’ve fought before and Captain Rogers put up a good fight in civilian clothes, he can’t imagine it’ll be any easier now that he’s ready.

“People are going to die, Buck. I can’t let that happen.”

He keeps his face straight, ignoring the screaming in the back of his skull telling him not to fight him, telling him they know each other, because no he does not. He doesn’t know anything, he doesn’t know Captain Rogers, or why this all happened to him, or who he was before this, or even what he was now. All he knows is he has to fight. It’s what he was made for. He cannot fail Pierce again.

“Please don’t make me do this.”

He inclines his head slightly, squinting at the other man. He had to know he could leave, he didn’t have to fight. The other man inclined his head as well, before gearing up and throwing his shield. The Asset was ready just as quickly, ducking out of the way and angling to shoot, missing a couple of times before hitting him in the side. He wondered briefly why the Captain’s handler’s let him out without a bulletproof vest, but he didn’t stay on the thought too long, it was to his advantage anyway.

The Captain manages a kick that throws him back, guns flying out of his hands. Didn’t matter, he always had backups. He grabbed his knife, approaching to continue fighting, thrown once again after a kick that was blocked by the shield. He hoped to get the shield away, he could win this easier if he didn’t have that, he didn’t seem to have many other weapons.

The fight continued on, the Asset doing his best to keep the Captain from inserting the computer chip. He wondered briefly to himself if he should just let him do it, he wasn’t going to survive the night whether the helicarriers were up or not. He’d fail, or he’d complete the mission, he’d die either way, but he knew he had a job to do. He lunged at him, tossing them both over the edge.

He manages one good stab to Roger’s shoulder as they fight on the floor, managing to get the computer chip but Rogers is just as fast, grabbing him and holding him down. “Drop it,” he demands, but the Asset doesn’t take orders from anyone but his handler. He keeps a tight hold, only squeezing harder as the Captain dislocates his shoulder, it’ll heal quick enough. Rogers throws them both so he has the Asset in a chokehold, and he knows it’s over as soon as his metal arm is kept down by Roger’s leg. He hasn’t fought someone before who had the strength to stop that arm, and he knows he won’t win. He let’s his airflow get cut off, let’s himself drop it. It doesn’t matter. When the helicarriers go down, he won’t have to be awake as he goes.

He’s up too soon though, and he knows that until one of them dies, he has to keep fighting. He levels a shot and is disappointed when he only hits the Captain’s thigh. He had good aim, he didn’t know why this was so hard for him. It felt as though the screaming in his mind was only getting louder, like it was what was holding him back from a proper shot, from finishing his mission. He needed it to shut up. He watches Rogers limp up to the control panel and finally aims a shot maybe he could be proud of, hitting him right below his ribs, watching him fall.

He’s almost in awe as he watches the Captain stand and insert the chip, rendering the helicarrier useless. He hears him say “Fire now,” and he’s almost thankful. He doesn’t want to return to Pierce like this, he doesn’t want to see Rumlow’s face after he’s failed this mission. He wants this. But he’ll go down fighting, at least. His brain has never fought this hard for two different sides at once. He wants to fight, he wants to finish his mission, but the screaming in the back just wouldn’t stop. He wants to yell for Rogers to get out, he wants him to leave, just get to safety, but that defeats his mission.

His chest aches. He’s never felt an ache like this.

The guns begin to fire and he screams as part of the infrastructure falls on him. He watches Rogers come over, likely to finish it, and is surprised and almost angry as he lifts it up. He wants him to leave, he doesn’t want to finish this.

“You know me,” the Captain says, and the Asset can’t help the anger in his chest. He doesn’t know anything.

“No I don’t!” He slams a punch into him, knocking him down. They both know this is over for both of them, but neither of them is finished.

“Bucky…You’ve known me your whole life.” The Asset can’t help it, it hurts, his chest feels like he’s still being crushed and he knows that this is the human ache he used to look for, the burning in his chest that reminded him he’s still human. He hates it now. He punches him again, throwing them both off their feet. “You’re name is James Buchanan Barnes.”

“Shut up!” He can’t hear this, he doesn’t want to, he knows he’s not supposed to know all this.

Rogers takes off his helmet, stumbling and looking at him like he’s about to cry, and the Asset wants to kill him. His head feels like it’s been hit with a hammer, the corner that has never stopped fighting screaming and thrashing, trying to break free from whatever corner he’d stashed it away in. “I’m not going to fight you.” He almost wanted to beg, plead for him to keep fighting, but Rogers dropped his shield to the waters below. “You’re my friend.”

He lunges at him, throws them both down, “You’re my mission.” He lets himself go as hard as he can, punching and beating, repeating the words again as he punched him, anger lighting up every nerve of his body. He pulls back just long enough to catch his breath, the muscles in his shoulder aching like he’d never felt, like they were straining trying to stop him from hitting him again. He hated this, he hated not knowing why he felt like this, he hated that Rogers was here, he hated every part of this.

“Then finish it, because I’m with you ‘til the end of the line.” The Asset’s eyes widened and he shook his head just a little, the words lighting up his brain like Brooklyn on the fourth of July and he hated it, he didn’t know those words, but he did and he shouldn’t, and he was scared. For the first time, the Asset was scared.

The helicarrier crashed around them, taking out the floor and taking Rogers down with it. The Asset held on, watching him fall with tears in his eyes. He knew he couldn’t return to base, he didn’t know what to do, and as he watched the other man’s body hit the water, he knew there was only one option. He let go, diving down to grab the front of the stupid not bullet proof suit that Rogers was wearing and tugged him up, leaving him on land to wake up.

He doesn’t know why he does it, but it feels right.

He wonders, briefly, if maybe he could save himself.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is shaping up to be a lot longer than i expecting lmao, comment down below and let me know what you think


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucharest seems like a good idea. It’s a safe place, away from Sam and Steve who he knows are looking for him, and it’s easy, people here don’t recognize him as Captain America’s dead best friend. Here he can be alone, he can focus on trying to remember.
> 
> Key word being trying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i never actually watched the whole of civil war, and im not going to, because im not a huge iron man fan and i thought it had a little too much of him for my taste, so this isn't going to be accurate to the movie, like at all, and the remaining chapters are only going to vaguely follow the mcu because civil war was kind of when i fell out of it all (like i never saw infinity war either.) shout out to endgame for bringing me back, but this time angry lmao

Bucharest seems like a good idea. It’s a safe place, away from Sam and Steve who he knows are looking for him, and it’s easy, people here don’t recognize him as Captain America’s dead best friend. Here he can be alone, he can focus on trying to remember.

Key word being trying.

Turns out, having your brain thrown in a blender time and time again makes it hard to work out what’s real, and what memories belong to you.

James knows that if he just went to Steve, he could ask, figure out who he used to be, really, work out what was real and what wasn’t, but that seemed too risky. He had hurt Steve too much the last time he’d seen him, shot him, shot Natalia, tore off Sam’s wings. Not only that, but if Steve’s friend Tony were to find out about all the terrible things he’d done to his family, it was over for him.

 

For a while he doesn’t have the money to live, picking off little bits of cash from people around him, occasionally breaking into houses just to eat. He doesn’t take anything but food and bits of money and he feels terrible about it, but there isn’t much else he can do, and he’s careful and never takes too much, tries his best to be sensible about it. It isn’t the worst thing he’s done by now, but he still wishes he didn’t have to. He wants the days of him doing bad things to be over.

He breaks into a home one day when he assumes no one is home, he’d seen the family leave, heading straight for the kitchen and grabbing cans to shove in his bag, anything he could keep for a while to hold him over. The version of the serum they gave him made his appetite insane, and when he’d been with Hydra, they’d fed him through a feeding tube, since they couldn’t have him have preferences for what he ate. That had made the start of recovering even harder, since anytime he ate, he had vomited, his body not taking the food it wasn’t used to. He’d just started to manage to keep it down, and he knew it was visible on him, that he looked like he hadn’t eaten in years.

He freezes when he hears feeble steps headed toward the kitchen, eyes darting for a quick escape, but the only way out was a window and he doesn’t want to break anything. So instead he just stands, looking over the can in his hands before putting it back in the pantry just as an old woman rounds the corner. She stares at him for a moment, clearly taking in his wretched appearance before asking, “Ce faci?” _what are you doing?_

His eyes fall to the ground and he closes the pantry door. “Îmi pare rău, mi-era foame,” _I’m sorry, I was hungry._

He can see her nod a little before she rounds the counter, heavy on her walker. “Pot observa asta. Voi pregăti ceva, baia este în hol, arăți că ai nevoie de un duș.” _I can see that. I’ll cook you something, the bathroom is down the hall, you look like you need a shower._ He stays frozen for a moment before he nods, taking it like an order. He knows he should just leave, but she seems set on helping him, pointing him in the direction of some towels as well. He’s not one to say no to help.

He takes a very quick, cold shower, doing the bare minimum to make himself presentable and taking as little as possible of any product he uses, desperate to not take more than he has to. He dries himself off and dresses quickly, back into the same clothes, and enters back into the kitchen. True to her word, the old woman had made him a small meal of soup and a sandwich and James wants to cry, he doesn’t know how to thank her, and he says as much. She just waves him off and tells him to sit down.

It’s the first show of kindness he’s had in years

 

With the money he steals he gets himself some new clothes, something nice, and finds himself a job. It’s not a good one, but he did expect anything nice, he just needs an income, he doesn’t want to keep stealing. It works out for him, and eventually he manages to get himself a small apartment. It’s dingy and the windows don’t open without being propped, and there’s no heating or air conditioning, but he doesn’t care, it’s his.

He gets his own food now, gains back his weight and a bit more, bulks up in a way Hydra hadn’t let him before. They’d always wanted him lean and fast, not strong. He was an assassin, a spy, not a real fighter, so it seemed like a good idea to spite them on that. He could do both.

Everything seems to be going okay, until he knows it’s not. He can sense it before he sees it, sees the way the man at the newspaper stand is watching him, and he heads straight over, reading the headline and he knows that he’s stuck in another fight he doesn’t want to be a part of.

He heads straight home, walking into his apartment silently, checking for threats but only seeing Steve. He stands quietly for a moment, just watching him, before Steve seems to catch that there’s a second presence in the room. He’s holding James’s notebook and he wants to scream.

Steve turns around and asks, “Do you know me?”

The ache is back, and he thought he’d moved past that by now, but it seems that this specific level of ache only happens around Steve. He wants to tell him that he does, he knows a lot but not enough, he’s never sure which memories are real and which ones were things that the old Bucky had made up, things he had wanted, dreamed about, because James can’t tell the difference. He wants to talk to him about everything, but he knows he can’t. Instead he says, “You’re Steve. I read about you in the museum.”

It seems like that’s the wrong thing to say though, he can see it in the slight fall of Steve’s shoulders, the way his jaw clenches for a moment. He finally puts down James’s notebook and he sighs a small breath of relief. “I know you’re nervous,” Steve says, and he has a feeling that he doesn’t understand it’s not nerves, it’s that he doesn’t want to fight anymore, “and you have plenty of reason to be. But you’re lying.”

“I wasn’t in Vienna. I don’t do that anymore.”

“Well the people who think you did are coming here right now, and they’re not planning on taking you alive.”

James almost laughs, nodding slightly. “That’s smart. Good strategy.” He can hear the steps on the roof and he flicks his eyes up and back down, around his apartment, reminding himself how everything is set up specifically for this situation, cinderblocks to throw, mattress to shield from shots through the window, backpack under the floorboards.

“This doesn’t have to end in a fight, Buck.” He wants to correct the name but it doesn’t seem worth it. He’s not Bucky, but Steve doesn’t need to know that right now.

“It always ends in a fight.” He takes off his glove, setting them down like it matters, he knows he’s not coming back here anyway, and even if he was, he was in the hole, the second anyone else comes in he knows his security deposit is gone.

“You pulled me from the river. Why?” Steve sounds hurt, angry almost, or maybe just running out of time to ask all the questions he wants to know.

James sighs and shrugs a little, “I don’t know.”

Steve looks like he’s about to say something else, just as a grenade is tossed through the window and the fight begins. They fight well together, or maybe it’s just that Steve is quick to protect James, and James just wants to get away. Either way though, he manages to get out of the apartment, trying to run from it all when he sees another fight headed right towards him in a black cat suit and he doesn’t have time to think, just runs. He knows that Steve and the man in the cat suit are following but he doesn’t care, he keeps running as fast and as far as he can, weaving through streets and between buildings, over fences, anything he can to put distance between them and him.

It feels like he runs forever before he finds himself on the outskirts of the city, ducking into a small house, desperate for any cover he can find. He knows that none of this makes a difference, he doesn’t have Hydra to bail him out, he can’t leave the country looking like this, the best he can try and do is lie low, but he’s an international fugitive, spy or not, this is above what he was trained for.

He doesn’t know if the other men are still trying to find him, though he knows the law is, and he’s thankful as he finds the family not home, making quick work of finding new clothes, stealing some from the closet that barely fit him, just a little tight before he hurries to the bathroom, shaving quickly and taking one long look at himself before he cuts his hair. He knows his face is famous, but if he can make himself look just the slightest bit different he knows it’ll help.

He’s not a professional, but he knows he used to cut Steve’s hair for him, and he uses what little bits he can remember of that to cut it off, stealing a pair of glasses from the bedroom that only make his depth perception a little off. He’ll manage, before he makes quick work of cleaning up the hair and throwing his clothes on the stove and then down the sink. He leaves through the back door.

 

The wandering and running eventually finds him at an empty spot at the border of Bulgaria, and he takes the chance to leave the country. He knows that it doesn’t matter long term, he will be found, but it’s easier to resist, at least to him. He wants them to find the man actually responsible, he knows it wasn’t him. He can’t remember a lot, and sometimes there are gaps in what he remembers from the day before, but he knows that Vienna isn’t him. It couldn’t have been. He didn’t do that anymore.

He finds a little shack soon enough and settles in. He doesn’t know where he’s going or how he’s getting there, but he hopes it’s somewhere safe. He’s so tired of running.

 

It’s the man with wings that finds him. Sam, he knows, Steve’s good friend from this decade.

“I’m sorry about your car,” he says as soon as he sees him, figuring that was as good a place as any to start.

“Steve’s worried about you.” Sam wasn’t wasting time, apparently, just getting straight to the point. “He just wants to take care of you. He won’t let anyone take you away.”

James wanted to laugh again, but instead he just shook his head, “I’m not the man he wants. I want to be, but I’m not. He’d be disappointed with what he found.”

“He’s fighting Iron Man right now for you. The man responsible for the Vienna attack, he wanted to tear them apart. He used your face because he knew Steve would do anything to protect you, and he wanted to show Tony what happened to his parents.” Sam was approaching him now, moving like James was a scared animal, which was a good tactic. He flinched at the mention of Maria and Howard Stark, biting the inside of his cheek, hard enough to draw blood. “We know it wasn’t you. We can help.”

“But it was me.” James stepped back as Sam got nearer, shaking his head.

“You were brainwashed.”

“I still did it.”

He knew that no one else knew the details of his time as the Asset, that they had left most of what he did or what they did to him out of files anyway, but even Hydra didn’t know how much he had remembered for parts of it, how conflicted he was.

“You needed to survive. You were in a terrible situation, no one can blame you for what you did to survive it.”

James just shook his head, but as Sam approached again, he stayed still. He didn’t want to run anymore.

 

Sam walks him out, taking them to a plane that James quickly realized was full of other people he vaguely recognized. In the few times he’d wandered into the city to find more food, he’d seen the news, watching as Captain American and Iron Man feuded, watching distantly as their teams sided up. They’d been arrested, but apparently that wasn’t long term. It made him wonder what would have happened to him if he’d let them catch him. He climbed in, stone faced, and found an empty spot near the back, desperate not to take up more space than he had to.

The man next to him looks over at him briefly, giving him a nod hello before turning back. “I hear you were brainwashed.”

These people didn’t seem to have a whole lot of boundaries, James thought. “I was.”

“Me too. Mine wasn’t for very long though. I can’t imagine what it was like for you. I’ll never forget the feeling of having my mind belong to someone else. It’s unbearable.”

James looked at him, eyebrows drawn in. He hadn’t expected to meet anyone who could empathize with him in any way. After a moment, he relaxed. “It is. It’s almost more unbearable to get it back, because you have to think of everything you did.”

The man beside him smiled a little and reached his hand out. “Clint Barton. No need to introduce yourself, I know who you are.” James shook his hand, nodding slightly before going quiet again.

 

Steve looks awful when they get him, which was apparently what they’d been doing, unbeknownst to James, and he can’t help but shrink under his gaze when Steve’s eyes lock on him, sighing, “Bucky.” He looked over at Sam and nodded, a clear thank you, before he sat down near James, eyes never straying far, like he thought if he looked away he might disappear.

That was fair, James had disappeared on him multiple times now, which he didn’t regret, but he knew Steve wasn’t going to allow that to happen again.

They were flown back to DC and as the rest of them unloaded, James stayed still. He wasn’t sure where he was expected to go, where he was meant to start this version of his life, if he’d have to fight again.

He sat alone for a moment before Steve came back, holding his hand out. James looks at it for a moment, eyes flicking up at Steve and then back down and takes it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just don't want bucky to have to fight anymore. he clearly doesn't want to. let steve and tony handle it, bucky doesn't need to.


End file.
